


those with teeth

by green_postit



Series: gone all the agonists [1]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Jealousy, M/M, Senator Ben Solo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 11:45:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6853303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/green_postit/pseuds/green_postit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Poe doesn't move an inch; his eyes fully dilated; mouth licked a slick pink, cheeks flushed pretty with color.</p>
<p>He's gorgeous.</p>
<p>Ben wants him so much he's sick with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	those with teeth

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of an alternative universe series where Anakin Skywalker never went to the Darkside and the events of the original series are heavily altered.

Ben barely makes it all the way to Poe's quarters before he lays into him.

"I should write you up for insubordination, Commander," he hisses once the door clicks shut. He clenches his fingers behind his back to avoid reaching out and _throttling_ the reckless idiot.

Poe runs a hand through his ruffled hair and tugs on the curls at the base of his neck the way he does when he's tired. He's been up for two full cycles; the reports BB-8 covertly sent him show Poe's blood mostly consists of stims and caf.

"With respect, _Colonel_ ," Poe almost manages to say it without contempt, "I got the job done with no casualties."

"Is that supposed to impress me?" He watches Poe flip the latch of the flare belt strapped to his thigh, follows every motion hungrily. Poe is here—he's alive. He's safe.

"Wouldn't that be a first?" Poe strips off his gloves and tosses them to the corner of his room, struggles to reach behind his back and unclasp the safety harness strapped to his chest. Ben reflexively reaches forward, bats away Poe's hands, and tugs at the buckle until it pops loose.

"You could have gotten your squad killed over a _supply_ run, _Poe_ ," Ben can't let it go, can still feel the phantom traces of his heart pounding in his throat. "You could have gotten yourself killed over _kebroot_."

"But I didn't, _Ben._ The _General_ ," he emphasizes instead of saying _your_ _mother_ , "put me in charge of the fleet because she trusts and respects my judgement the same way I do hers. Take a page from her book, would you?"

"You'd never disobey _her_ orders."

"Yours would have put my mission in jeopardy." Poe kicks off his boots before he turns to face Ben. "Which you'd've realized if you were actually a _pilot_."

It's a petty shot that lands exactly as intended—Ben's most painful childhood sacrifice and their trivial, long-time rivalry slapped painfully across Ben's face, spat so callously that Ben's vision is wiped clear except for red rage. He crosses the room before he can stop himself, slams Poe against the wall, and pins his wrists firmly at his side.

“I might not be one of your pilots,” Ben admits bitterly, wets his mouth when Poe's eyes dilate. "But I _am_ your commanding officer and you _will_ obey me."

And that's really the core of his anger.

Poe, loyal, dedicated, _perfect_ golden Poe—cut him open and he bleeds Resistance orange; who takes the merest suggestions made by every ranking officer in the Resistance as _law_ , who shows such unfaltering, _desperate_ respect for his superiors, never listens to a damn thing Ben has to say.

It buries under Ben's skin and _burns_ like a blastbug bite.

Any lingering trace of Poe's exhaustion slips from his face all at once. His eyes darken and his soft mouth tenses.

"I'm sorry, Colonel.” Poe’s stiff with contrite compliance. He doesn't try to wrench his hands from Ben's grip and Ben feels his anger fizzle into a low burn in the pit of his stomach when he notices the front of Poe's flightsuit beginning to tent. “I didn't realize you’d have such a problem with a successful mission."

The apology is as flippant as usual, but Ben's too on edge to let it slide the way he normally does. Judging by the darkening in Poe's eyes and the softening of his mouth, he knows it, too. Ben slides forward and Poe has to tilt his head all the way back just to maintain eye contact, chin jutting forward defiantly in a way that exposes his throat. Ben wants to set his teeth to the skin—to bite down and only stop when Poe's clawing at his hair and _screaming_.

He squeezes Poe's wrists before he slowly releases them, keeps steady, direct eye contact with Poe while he pulls away. He takes a small step back and watches as Poe instinctively leans toward him. Poe realizes what he's doing a moment later and stubbornly flattens his hips against the wall. He tenses his arms, keeps them exactly where Ben placed them, exactly where Ben wants them.

Poe doesn't move an inch; his eyes fully dilated; mouth licked a slick pink, cheeks flushed pretty with color.

He's gorgeous.

Ben wants him so much he's _sick_ with it.

"You should be sorry, Poe," Ben chastises, pride cracking through him until it glows.

It's easy enough to reach out to the Force, to guide just a whisper of it down his arm until it brushes against Poe's chest, warms his skin through his flightsuit. Poe's eyelashes flutter shut when Ben kneads his fingers across his torso, slips them beneath the placket of his suit and whimpers when Ben lets the Force trickle through Poe's nerves, thrums pleasure through every cell.

"You should be sorry for disobeying a direct order from your commanding officer."

Poe's already clenching his jaw, is trying so, so hard not to squirm. He's going to work himself up into a beautiful little frenzy, and Ben's barely even _touched_ him yet.

Ben remedies that immediately, presses his hand across Poe's sternum and spreads his fingers wide; feels the heavy throb of Poe's heart under his palm, exactly where he should be. When he was younger, he used to go hot all over knowing he could have Poe in a way nobody else ever could; that could filter every molecule of shared pleasure through Poe's body and wring it out afterward. It used to be too much sensation to process, used to send his mind into orbit.

Now it’s cooled to a smug sense of accomplishment that he wears as proudly as any of his titles.

“You should be apologizing for endangering your team. Your _friends_.”

He flexes his fingers lazily and Poe's back arches forward as if electrocuted, body strained, arms still flat against the wall, cock fully erect and begging to be touched—weakly struggles as if he's ever been able to resist Ben's touch. It's flattering, heady. Ben stops teasing for a moment, drags the back of his fingers along the firm line of Poe's trapped cock, wills a spark of the Force to curl and _squeeze_.

"But most of all, you should be apologizing for endangering what's mine—what belongs to _me_." He rubs the hypersensitive tip of Poe's rigid cock for emphasis, revels in the full body judder that shakes through Poe's pliant body.

Poe's utterly massacring his tongue trying to keep quiet, is biting so hard Ben knows he'll be licking blood from his teeth. Poe's always been ready to sacrifice his comfort and his body for his beliefs; he’s seen Poe cockily smile through a beating, has watched him run his mouth while a torture-droid drilled its metal claws into his belly. He's never let pain factor into his stubbornness, has always _endured_ in order to complete a mission, but Ben knows his weak spots, knows exactly what to do to get Poe Dameron to squirm then crack then _moan_.

He really would have made the ideal Jedi, Ben thinks vaguely as he watches Poe try to control his breathing. Poe definitely wouldn't have quit as soon as he'd mastered the basics like Ben had.

"You absolute bastard," Poe whines without heat, teeth clenched. He’s desperately trying to still his hips, to fight against the echoes of Ben's pleasure coursing through his veins.

Ben drags his palm back to Poe's belly, coaxes the Force to radiate in smooth, constant pulses that has Poe whimpering, his thighs shaking, his knees buckling. He's trying to stop himself from grinding his heavy erection into Ben's hand, is fighting through the haze of arousal to formulate the counterattack Ben can already sense him formulating.

He isn't going to give Poe an inch to wiggle away.

"Say you're sorry for putting yourself in danger and I'll forgive you." He keeps his voice even and clear, leans down to nuzzles the damp curls sticking to Poe's overheated neck, inhales greedily. Poe smells fantastic, like sweat and engine grease, like everything Ben's ever wanted his whole life.

Ben's spent years learning exactly how much Poe can handle and takes immeasurable pleasure in inching Poe further every single time. Ben ranks these moments—where he has Poe drowning in sensation, where his instinct to resist succumbs to his thirst for pleasure—where his body submits fully to Ben's will—among the greatest in his life, no matter how many times he's been privileged with the honor.

Poe looks up at Ben through the lush fan of his eyelashes. His pleasure-slackened face is a sight that never fails to turn Ben wild—a marvel Poe always exploits mercilessly. It's only made worse when Poe drags the tip of his tongue along the thin curve of his lower lip and draw Ben's attention to the full, clever mouth he's loathed and desired in equal measure since he was a teenager.

"You know how good I can make you feel," Ben whispers into the curve of his neck. "Don't you want to feel good for me?" 

The sound Poe makes in response is violent— _vicious_ —and he digs in his heels, holds his breath until his hips are no longer hitching with unthinking desperation. He pushes up on the tips of his toes to bridge the difference in their height. His tongue fills Ben's mouth—a slick, hot tease—before he pulls back and groans against Ben's neck. Ben indulges in the kiss for longer than he means to, drags in a ragged breath against his lips as though the best air in the galaxy is the air sucked from Poe's lungs, stolen from his body.

Poe's mouth has always been as deadly as his aim.

Ben’s just as addicted to him as he hates what Poe can reduce him to.

Ben pulls away just as Poe chases his mouth for another kiss. Poe lets out a small whine at being denied, his heated frustration bleeding toxic.

"Say it." Ben's voice is a rumble across Poe's soft neck. He gets a mouthful of curls as Poe feverishly shakes his head in denial. Poe moans into the crook of Ben's neck, bites at the thick collar of Ben's jacket to keep the sounds at bay. Ben's lips are swollen and hot, his body flushed with need. He's so hard he could drill through duracrete.

Poe needs three uncoordinated attempts to grab the fingers Ben has tangled at the front of his flightsuit. His hands shake with how desperate he is, his usually impeccable coordination rendered sloppy and weak. Ben takes mercy, guides the loose clasp of their hands to the well-worn buttons and helps ease the material apart.

Poe's skin is slick and hot when the fabric parts and reveals his bare chest, the sound he makes subvocal when Ben slips inside and wraps his hand around Poe's cock. He’s been traveling around the galaxy his entire life and still hasn't managed to find a better sight than Poe red-faced and pushing his cock up into Ben's hand. He'd sooner chew off his tongue than tell Poe he's found no greater purpose in life than making him come and come and come until he's aching, till he's pleasure sore and pliant in Ben's arms--but it's completely true.

Ben's always been selfish, could never have been a proper Jedi. Could never have given this up.

"Open for me," he murmurs as he taps his thumb against Poe's lips, skims the rest of his fingers against the line of his sharp jaw. He licks along Poe's ear, tightens his fist at the base of Poe's cock and twists upward.

Poe’s breath hitches, defenses crumbling. Ben slides his thumb inside his mouth, shudders at the desperate suck, and comes close to slicing through his tongue when Poe cheekily bites down hard on Ben's knuckle. Ben smirks when Poe exposes the thick line of his neck—his pleasure overwhelming, something delicious Ben can _taste_.

He pulls his thumb from Poe's lush mouth, slips it inside his flightsuit as he nudges Poe's legs apart, as he catches him under the knees with the crook of his arm and _lifts_ until he can see the dark pupil of Poe's hazy eyes. Poe squeezes his legs around Ben's hips, the last of his insolence gone, and his body so wonderfully compliant. He whimpers pathetically, chokes on his own breathing when Ben strokes his damp finger against the tight clench of his ass.

It makes Ben hurt inside, how much he wants him. Poe gets under his skin, makes him shake with the need to claw and tear the want out of him like a parasite.

Ben exhales when he slips the knob of his thumb inside Poe, groans at the unbearable tightness and heat that sucks him right to the knuckle. Poe convulses once, whines like he's going feral. Ben doesn't waste a moment, pushes shallow but determined inside him as he twists his fingers tightly around Poe's rigid erection.

Ben knows from a very throughout exploration, that every single one of his long, thick fingers can slide deep into Poe—deeper than anyone's ever been able to touch him—and brush his prostate from absolutely every angle. Poe's face crumples with pleasure and Ben is incapable of holding back the raw pressure of the Force as it tears out of him and burrows into Poe.

Poe gasps at the cleaving intrusion, bucks, and twists as Ben's pleasure ricochets through him—nearly cripples him. Ben quickly rips the Force away to close the feedback loop before they go insane from it. It always made sex too sharp, too combustive—was greedy. The Force knows Ben wants everything of Poe for himself—wants the ecstasy of becoming one entity in mind and body; the torment of separating their thoughts atom by atom afterward—and is always looking for an opportunity to cohere.

Ben hastily apologizes for the unexpected intrusion with a soft kiss to the side of Poe's head, keeps nudging his prostate and stroking his cock to drown out the residual sparks of the Force, gladly obeys when Poe yanks his head down and sucks on his tongue. He tightens his legs around Ben's waist, shimmies, can't keep himself from arching into Ben's body, clings around Ben's shoulders and keeps yanking Ben's hair at the root. The new angle is rough on Ben's spine and wrist—is why he prefers having Poe flat on his back—but Poe is kissing him with a fervor and determination that whites out the edges of his consciousness.

Poe tastes like him.

It's glorious.

"Are you sorry?" Ben touches the tip of his tongue to Poe's ear, pants hot and wet against his face and pulls on his dick as he teasingly rubs his thumb in a fraction harder. Poe's expression is tortured, is gorgeous. He's so close to coming Ben can smell it, knows how to read the ripples in Poe's body—no longer has to dip into his mind to know how badly he's panting with it.

" _Yes_ ," Poe cries out, begs, his face pleasure hurt. It's appalling how perfect he looks. "Dammit, Ben, please. _Please_."

The swell of victory drowns Ben completely.

Poe's been on edge for so long he barely lasts two firm strokes, two sharp thrusts, before he comes all over Ben's hand, his teeth clamped onto his tongue to prevent the shout trapped in his throat. He collapses into Ben's arms, sex soft and numb to everything except the aftershocks of being properly used.

He smells so good Ben can't take it.

Ben wipes most of Poe's come on his twitching belly just to watch him shudder, and sucks the rest off his fingers with a gluttonous thrill. Poe curses under his breath, uses the last burst of his energy to catch Ben's hand in his and nudges it close to his face, kisses the palm lightly. His face is flushed bronze and pink, and the whole effect is captivatingly roguish. The ache in his cock becomes as impossible to ignore as the stiffness in his shoulders.

"You're still hard," Poe murmurs, legs slipping from Ben's hips, sags as if his bones are no longer solid. Ben tightens his grip and smiles at Poe's indignant squawk when he's tipped onto the bed and falls on top of him.

"You're not my type." Ben lies into the side of Poe's neck, smiles when he hears Poe's huff of blatant disbelief.

“Control freak.”

Poe starts squirming and fidgeting, only stops when he's got Ben half pinned beneath his body.

"Comfortable?" Ben asks, eyebrows raised as he takes in the sight of Poe’s much smaller body curled up on top of him.

"Not really." Poe sluggishly bats at Ben's face with his hand and Ben nips at his pinkie, gets a sharp tug on his ear as payback before Poe tangles his fingers in Ben's hair, purrs like a particularly pampered house pet. Then—

"Did you seriously just get mad because you think I respect your _mom_ more than you?"

It’s enough to startle a snort of reluctant laughter out of Ben’s throat. He scoffs.

"Shut up," Ben tells him half-heartedly, gives Poe’s hair a little tug in retribution for good measure.  

Poe makes a small, pleased noise at the back of his throat as he nudges Ben's face towards him, eyes already closed, as he kisses him solidly on the mouth. Ben feels the slow thrum of Poe's heart, the even pace of his breathing, adds a pleased little noise of his own to the mix.

Ben keeps kissing him until Poe goes slack against his mouth, slumping bonelessly against Ben’s chest as he finally succumbs to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> A million thanks to my incredible beta [spikeface](http://archiveofourown.org/users/spikeface/pseuds/spikeface), and to [EmilianaDarling](http://archiveofourown.org/users/EmilianaDarling/pseuds/EmilianaDarling) who basically deserves a co-writing credit for this.
> 
> You can find me on **Tumblr at[green_postit](http://green-postit.tumblr.com/)**!


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